Gressil stood in the middle of the street behind the monstrosity of a building, Glenstroke Hotel. The place had always been where Blooming Height’s strong man conducted business. The city’s throne was here since the first building had been erected under the guidance of Carnivale, the city’s first strong man.
Paralyzed
IX: An Ungodly Meeting
And the city’s crown still resided here under…
Of course he couldn’t just waltz into the strong man’s throne room without an invitation. That’s how any demon, even one of a higher station like himself, purchased a one-way ticket to the Abyss.
He didn’t want to play crabs in a bucket for the small chance he’d escape that hell. He shuddered at the thought of it.
“What’s this about, Gressil?”
The voice boomed from behind the suited demon. He turned, ready to look his strong man in the face.
Two massive slits of flame hovered above him.
“You’re not afraid, are you?” He hoped he wasn’t pushing his luck. “Coming out to meet me like… well like I’m an emissary from above.”
A great snarling reverberated out from below those eyes.
Gressil stroked his long chin. “I come with alarming news.” He looked away, then he smiled, his elongated teeth almost glittering in the dark. “That’s all I’ll say until you come to me in the flesh.”
A great whirlwind stirred.
Gressil barely turned his head back in time to see the strong man materialize.
Mephistopheles wore black robes, his membranous wings spread wide behind him. His pale eyes glared at the other demon.
“Ah Mephistopheles,” Gressil said, his thin arms outstretched as he bowed.
Mephistopheles raised his right hand.
Gressil stood straight. “You see? I’m not here to usurp you.” He took a few steps down the street. “Even if I wanted to, the news I bring would make me rethink taking the throne.” He turned and gestured at the hotel. “I wouldn’t want to be ruler of Blooming Heights when it all goes down.”
The strong man’s eyes sparked. “You keep alluding to your news. Don’t test my patience, Gressil. Don’t make me regret keeping you at your station.”
Gressil put his arms behind his back. “I have it on good authority that the Crimson Clown is in town.”
Mephistopheles chuckled. “A clown? That’s it? This is what you’ve delayed my great work for?” He pointed to the top of the hotel. “Even now I torment myself by experimenting with that machine my predecessor left me—I can’t make heads or tails of it. But you want me to fret over some circus?”
“Forget the Soul Engine for now,” Gressil said. “You have the soul safely inside—just leave him there until you figure this mess out.”
“I’m listening,” Mephistopheles said.
“We aren’t talking about a circus. The Crimson Clown spells out doom for our kind.”
Mephistopheles laughed.
“He’s not from this universe.”
The laughter stopped. “An entity from The Great Beyond?”
Gressil nodded.
“How do you know?”
“You’ve grown stronger here, but you haven’t grown more wise.”
“You tempt me? I could destroy you.”
“Never,” Gressil said, now pacing before his lord. “You misunderstand me. I only meant you haven’t sought knowledge. The knowledge your position could afford you.”
“Speak plainly.”
Gressil smirked. “There was once spoken a foretelling of future events. These events were said to begin with this red clown—an agent of chaos. He would usher in an era of our destruction.”
“A prophecy?” Mephistopheles tilted his head. “Prophecies are always twisted and mangled things. You think they mean one thing—then bam!—they actually meant the opposite all along.”
“Python made the foretelling.”
The strong man’s confusion was written on his face. “Python has long been in the Abyss. She didn’t make it past the Apostolic Age.”
“But her foretelling has stayed in the memory of a few,” Gressil said. “I only remember the gist of it.”
“A foretelling is more solid than a prophecy,” Mephistopheles said, considering the information. “If we sent down a demon into the Abyss to assist Python, they might slip through to this side.”
“They might indeed.” Gressil didn’t sound convinced. “But that chief sinner sent Python to the lowest ring of the Abyss.”
“Oh Python, you had to prick your servants in his presence.” He rolled his eyes.
“Maybe she couldn’t read her own future,” Gressil said, chuckling at the irony.
“Even if I sent a demon to fetch her, who’s to say this Crimson Clown won’t make his move before we have her foretelling?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Gressil said. “Which is why it pains me to say it.”
Mephistopheles’ eyes went to slits. “Say what?”
“The only reason I know about Python’s foretelling is because Carnivale remembered it.”
The strong man growled.
“But you sent him to the—”
“I know what I did,” Mephistopheles snapped.
“I dare not say it.”
His white eyes burned with rage now.
“But I suppose you didn’t send Carnivale down too far, did you? You could send a demon to fetch him.”
“All for some clown.”
“The foretelling, my lord. The foretelling revealed our end. You know how these things can play out: a foretelling doesn’t have to come true—not if you have all the information.”
The low growl returned.
“Besides,” Gressil said. “Bringing Carnivale back could serve you in getting the Soul Engine running, too.”
“I know a gal,” Mephistopheles said. “She’ll pull Carnivale out of the Abyss.”
“Very good, my lord. Whom shall you send?”
Mephistopheles’ eyes narrowed. “Lucy.”